For One Reason or Another
by Dante Androsso
Summary: Johnny decides to amuse himself as to what a certain someone would do in a certain situation. Also, there is a sore lack of fandom for this movie in general. Considering a second chapter, though a co-writer may be appreciated for insight on the more serious character that is involved. Any imput is appreciated.


The room was shrouded in a thick smoke as dark eyes opened slowly, looking dully out though focusing on nothing. It was moments like that that made him love what he was doing. Moments where the world felt so far away, so worry free, it was almost surreal, which made him love it even more. The feeling of floating somewhere outside himself and yet being contained within his own body, everywhere and nowhere all at once. He was perfectly contented, sitting in what he considered his favorite chair at that time, in the moment, though it was obvious that he would look for that perfect high once again.

If dear, old daddy could see him now. He laughed at the thought. That asshole probably wouldn't give him time of day; he'd slap him and send him away. Or try to. After all, the young man was nothing but poisonous, that sort of vile that you couldn't just wash out in a day. Oh, how it made him laugh, that thought. Johnny loved his dear daddy-kins. He'd love it more if the fucker would just keel over in an "accident" where his body would never be found. One of those "accidents" that the old man was so fond of. Besides, he always prefered his "Uncle" Archy anyway.

Archy was always a sort of mystery to the young musician, but in that sense that it was obvious why he was so fiercely loyal, unwavering in his convictions. Johnny could say he admired him in this if he weren't so taken by sweet allure of slowly killing himself. One could say it was almost an attraction to the older man; every time he'd try something, good old Archy would stop him in some way. His patent pending, infamous back hand, so lovingly referred to as the  
Archy slap, had slowly begun to lose something to it. Maybe the man was starting to show his age; then again, it could just be a growing numbness to it. Even a fondness for it. There was no way Archy was losing his touch with the discipline.

It was his own defiance that made the older man interesting. He, daily, asked himself, "If I do this, how will he react?" If it was predictable, it would be boring. If it was something that was highly unlikely, he found it amusing. If it was something he never saw coming, Johnny found it hilarious. True, it wasn't terribly good for his own health and well being, but neither was anything he'd ever done for himself.

He began to wonder, taking another hit in his glorious high, what Daddy dearest's right hand man would do if Johnny dared hit on him again. Probably tell him to quit being stupid and knock it off. No fun at all. So, instead, he began thinking of the less likely of the two scenarios, though this path lead to an infinite amount of possibilities, most of which had endings that he liked quite well; a lazy smirk of a smile slowly spreading on his face.

A need was beginning to form, something between release and decadence, those dark eyes darting over to his friend passed out on the sofa. His good old friend, The Piper, wanted to come out to play. And Johnny was just fine with that. And, with that in his oblivious high, he began to let himself explore one of the many possibilities.

There'd be no kissing; Archy didn't seem the type to do that anyway. It suited the younger just fine. But Archy would make him suffer, he just knew it. Archy knew he liked things fast and now and would do anything but just to try to make Johnny regret his decision. But once the self proclaimed RocknRolla had his mind set on something, it would take more than a little torture to turn his head from it and rethink. His hands slid down his still clothed thighs in a fashion that he believed the older man would do, pressing fingers into surprisingly sensitive spots causing silent gasps as he kept going. He was slowly losing patience with this, almost daring to explore the other route that came to his mind immediately, but he managed to drag the waistband of the sweat pants that hung lazily around his hips, not bothering with boxers for the day. He was mildly surprised that his hazy nerved body seemed to be enjoying the torturously slow pace he believed Archy would take, Hell, the old man probably wouldn't let him cum until he begged for it. It was an amusing thought: Archy thinking that the Johnny Quid would beg for anything. The smirk widened as his brown eyes closed, wrapping a hand around his very awake self, slowly moving it down then back up again in such a painfully slow motion that it caused a long, low moan to come from the junkie. He wondered if Archy would do this himself or if he would force the younger to take such languid strokes on himself. It was mind numbing blissful torture to the highest extent either way, just the thought of the older man's eyes watching everything that affected the slim body to writhe and twitch in such painful pleasure. It was sensory overload and he had to stop, just like he'd figure Uncle Arcy would stop, to keep from ending the scenario far too soon. Oh, if the older stopped like Johnny thought he would, not even God could save him from the lithe man's wrath. Just stopping right then was like taking coke from a man before he had his first high.

Swallowing audibly, he allowed himself to continue, exactly as if the older male had given him permission to continue, while Archy busied himself with something else. He knew this would hurt, the prep work as the short of it, but by then, Johnny knew he wouldn't give two fucks just for this one. Unconsciously, the hand around himself began moving faster at the thought of getting laid by his step father's best man. And that thought was so intoxicating, like the high from a once in a lifetime drug, so perfect in its bliss that there was nothing else in the world that could compare. He hadn't realized when he started softly moaning for his uncle to give him more, little swears and sweet nothings tumbling from his lips, getting so close that he could taste it.

"What's the matter, kid?" Johnny could almost hear the elder speaking to him, "Too much for you?" The words would be uttered against his ear, hot breath dancing passed the sensitised flesh. The idea seemed to be ridiculous, Archy being too much for him. He would never let those words pass his lips. But whispered "yes"'s and "Oh, God, please" in near desperation for release would be given if Archy asked if he wanted to cum.

"Yes," the man whispered to no one, "Oh, fuck, yes, please..." His voice began rising as he begged his missing "Uncle" to give him what he wanted, wailing out curses and the older's name as he came heavily onto his own hand and stomach, shivers of pleasure coursing through him in the afterglow. He looked over to his friend, mildly surprised to see him still asleep after the spectacular display of vulgar affection he had for another bloke. He did a half assed clean up job before tucking away again, relishing in one of the best orgasms he had in quite a while.

Now, where were his death sticks? Better question: were they close? Because he doubted his legs would carry him too far.


End file.
